


Part 17: Justin

by oiuytrewq36



Series: Straight to Number One [5]
Category: Queer as Folk (US)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-27
Updated: 2020-08-27
Packaged: 2021-03-06 17:07:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,115
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26132410
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oiuytrewq36/pseuds/oiuytrewq36
Summary: I’ve just finished hanging the last print for my exhibit in the graphic-arts show that opens next week when a tall, skinny woman with a long ice-blond ponytail walks into the gallery. She sees me and Daph and heads right for us, stiletto heels (Louboutins, I think) clicking.“Do you know her?” Daphne says.I take a closer look at the woman. “I don’t think so.”
Relationships: Brian Kinney/Justin Taylor (Queer as Folk)
Series: Straight to Number One [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1891456
Comments: 3
Kudos: 50





	Part 17: Justin

I’ve just finished hanging the last print for my exhibit in the graphic-arts show that opens next week when a tall, skinny woman with a long ice-blond ponytail walks into the gallery. She sees me and Daph and heads right for us, stiletto heels (Louboutins, I think) clicking.

“Do you know her?” Daphne says.

I take a closer look at the woman. “I don’t think so.”

Putting on my best hi-there-I'm-a-young-aspiring-artist smile as she arrives in earshot, I say, “Can I help you?”

She looks at me, then the art, then me again. “I’m looking for Tom Larazzo.” 

I sigh internally - not a buyer - and point. “Sure, he’s in his office. Right through there.”

The woman walks away, and Daph goes back to updating me on the latest Pittsburgh gossip.

Ten minutes later, the woman reemerges with something resembling a smile on her face, Tom following after her. He shakes her hand at the door, then comes over to us, grinning.

“What was that about?” I ask.

“She works for Outrise, a big new nonprofit downtown that organizes charity drives for places without the means or knowledge to do it themselves. Everybody wants them, but we’ve got them! She was here to ask if we’d like to sign them on to help with the annual gala this year.”

“Did you say yes?”

He grins. “Of course, why wouldn’t we? She’s going to bring over the paperwork first thing tomorrow.”

He walks back to his office, humming.

Daphne turns to me as I flip open my phone. “Why do you look like that? Isn’t this a good thing?”

“One minute, then I’ll explain.” I walk over to the nearest alcove and dial.

“Sunshine, much as I appreciate the thought, I don’t think I have time for a blowjob right now.” 

I decide to ignore that for the moment. “What’s the name of Pendergrass’s new organization, the one who won’t stop calling the office?”

“Something dull and stupid. I think it starts with “out”. Outshine, maybe? Outraise? That seems a little on the nose.”

“Outrise?”

“That’s it. Why do you want to know?”

“Some woman from there just got Tom to agree to let them organize their yearly gala.”

“Shit. Did he sign anything?”

“Not yet. I’m about to go tell him about the Liberty Ride thing.”

“Cynthia has the evidence I found on Pendergrass’s trail of destruction somewhere. I can have her send it over if you think you’ll need it.”

I smile. “That’d be great.”

I can hear his smirk. “How great?”

“Feels like it’s been a while since I’ve had a really good spanking…”

Brian moans. “Whatever I did to deserve you, Sunshine, I promise to do it more often in the future.”

I laugh and hang up, then walk back over to Daphne.

“We need to go talk to Tom.”

***

Later that night, as I’m lying against Brian, spent and aching and exquisitely sore, he says, “By the way, what did the woman look like?”

“The one who came to the gallery today? Uh, long blond hair, designer suit-”

“Firetruck-red lipstick, thousand-dollar shoes, creepy blank expression?”

I turn to look at him. “Yeah, you know her?”

“That’s Pendergrass’s secretary. She and Cynthia have been engaged in some kind of Good Blond/Bad Blond psychological arm-wrestling match for the last month.”

“Well, I have a feeling I’m in one of my own now.”

He grins at me. “JT saves the day again?”

I sigh. “For now, anyway. I don’t think even Rage could keep Pendergrass out of every queer-owned business in the city.”

He pulls me on top of him and kisses my neck. “You saved Tom’s gallery. That’s a start.”

I kiss him back, on the mouth. “One step at a time, right?”

***

A few days later, I’m painting in my studio when I realize that it’s nearly two and I’ve forgotten to have lunch. I grab a sandwich from the bodega on the corner of the block and walk to Midtown while I eat. I’m a third of the way through the new Black Eyed Peas album when I notice the ponytail woman coming out of the revolving entrance to a skyscraper across the street. After she walks away, I dodge a few taxis to get to the opposite sidewalk before entering the same door she’d just left through. 

The lobby of the building is marbled and excessively air-conditioned. I walk over to look at the floor directory, which lists tons of business names, none of which I recognize - InLine Dentistry, Morningside Credit Union, Sterner & Sterner Retirement Planning and Wealth Management, something that's just called Neveaux, Rabinov Labs, and probably a hundred more. 

I take out my phone and photograph the directory as quickly as I can, because a guy who’s almost certainly a security guard is approaching me. Given that I’m wearing paint-covered sweats, I don’t think I’d be able to pretend I’m here for a financial planning meeting, so I leave before he can ask me any questions and head back to the apartment. 

As I walk, fast but not too fast, I make a mental note to tell Brian about my little detecting adventure to see if he can find out if any of the businesses might be targets for Pendergrass, with no idea that all thoughts of ponytails and donations and directories are about to be thrown out of my mind by the strangest stroke of fate of my life (which, if you don’t know, is really saying something).

I’ve just washed off all the paint from my day, and I’m standing in front of the mirror, trying to figure out if I want to try a new haircut. I part my hair on one side of my head, further to the side than I normally would, and suddenly I’m not in New York any more; I’m in the bathroom in Debbie’s house, and I’m wearing a tuxedo, and Emmett is telling me how _handsome_ I look, and it’s not the kind of choppy, disjointed memory I used to have of prom, it’s complete and totally clear.

Brian gets home an hour later, while I’m still sitting on the couch in the dark, staring at nothing.

He walks over to me. “What’s wrong?”

“I-” I don’t know how to tell him this, or even if I should tell him.

He sits down next to me, puts an arm around my shoulder and takes my right hand with the other. “What is it?”

Fuck it. Keeping things from each other has never helped us much in the long run.

I look at him, feel my eyes sting. “I remember.”

Brian tilts his head. “You-

“I remember. Prom. You. Everything.”

**Author's Note:**

> my first cliffhanger, sort of. follow-up installment tomorrow (probably)


End file.
